The Girl from Berlin: War Criminal's Widow

by Ellie Midwood

  Out of her cheerful chatter I caught one thing: he looks just like him. I swallowed hard and interrupted the teacher.

  “How did he look exactly?”

  “Well, he was very tall, taller than Mr. Rosenberg even, six foot seven at least, I thought right away. He explained to me that he was Ernie’s uncle and your son obviously knew him, he spoke with the same accent that you and your husband do, so I stopped worrying at all knowing that he was your relative. Anyway, he asked me if he could speak to Ernie a little more, because he lived far away and could only visit him occasionally, so I said yes, no problem, take your time—”

  “What did he look like? His face I mean?” I interrupted the young woman once again, trying not to sound too impatient.

  “Oh, well, he’s very handsome, even though he has those scars on the side of his face, I was very curious where he got them, but didn’t want to pry. Germany, war, you know, I can only imagine what all of you had to go through! So I just left them alone.”

  I was already digging in my bag, taking out a picture of Otto and Ernst wearing civil suits during one of the receptions which Heinrich found amongst the files of the OSS and sneaked it out for me to have.

  “Is this him?” I tapped my finger on Otto, showing the photograph to Ms. Stevens.

  “No, not this one, this one.” She shook her head and tapped on Ernst’s image instead.

  “You must be mistaken,” I said slowly and clearly. “This man has been dead for almost four years.”

  “He didn’t look dead to me,” the girl laughed, and then added more seriously. “I assure you, it was him. I have a photographic memory. That’s him.”

  “It can’t be him. He’s dead,” I repeated louder.

  “Have you seen his body?” The redhead skeptically raised her eyebrow.

  “Yes! I mean… not the actual body… The picture of it. They… sent it to us.”

  “Oh, that’s all rubbish, those pictures!” She dismissively waved her hand and rolled her eyes. “A friend of mine received a notice of her husband’s death in 1944. What do you think? Two years later he came back, safe and sound; it turned out that he was captured by the Germans first, was in the camp, survived it, got liberated, was treated in Switzerland and when he was healthy enough, they let him go home. And this whole time poor Amy thought that her husband was dead! Thank God she didn’t remarry or anything! There were thousands of cases like this, so one picture doesn’t mean anything. Somebody might think that it was him, but you know how it is, people get mistaken all the time—”

  “No, no, you don’t understand, that picture was real, and the people who took it, they… well, they were very much sure that it was him.”

  “It’s just a picture! It’s not like you saw him dead with your own eyes! He must have your address, I’m sure he’ll stop by your place to see you soon, and you’ll have a chance to see him with your own eyes,” the girl concluded with a smile, while I stood frozen in my place, astonished even more after talking to Ernie’s teacher. I was going here in hope to clarify everything, but she just went and put more doubts in my head.

  “Thank you, Ms. Stevens, you helped me a lot.” I managed to squeeze a formal gratitude out of myself and headed back home not seeing anything around anymore.

  Back in my apartment I was right away confronted by Ursula, who loved all kinds of gossip and secrets, and learning just an hour earlier that someone was pretending to be Ernie’s father, couldn’t contain herself from flooding me with questions. After telling her a brief story with the Cross and with what Ms. Stevens told me, I took the blonde by the hand and led her to the bedroom.

  “Come, I need you to take a look at something.” I got the New York Times out of the box for the second time today, and opened it at the loathed page. “Is this Ernst or not?”

  “Oh, honey, don’t make me—”

  “Please, look at the picture, I’m begging you!” I pleaded with the young woman who couldn’t even stand the sight of blood, leave alone the pictures of the executed war criminals.

  She finally threw a side glance at the photo and quickly averted her eyes. “I guess. I don’t know.”

  “Ursula, please, for the love of God!!!”

  With the heaviest sigh she leaned over the paper together with me. “It looks like him. That’s the suit he was always wearing, right? He looks so emaciated here. I don’t remember him this way, he lost a lot of weight since I saw him last time in Germany… You don’t think it’s him?”

  “It has to be him,” I frowned, looking closely at the picture. Unlike Ursula I did see him in Nuremberg days before his execution, and knew what he looked like sixty pounds lighter. “I mean, there were too many witnesses to his execution. There’s no way somebody just hanged somebody else instead of him. And besides, why would they? They all hated Ernst!”

  “So it’s him then,” concluded Ursula. “But then how do you explain the Cross, Ernie saying that his father was visiting him and the teacher positively identifying him from the picture you showed her?”

  “Ursula, trust me, I have as little idea of what’s going on as you do.”

  “He didn’t have a twin brother by chance?” she suddenly asked.

  “No. He had brothers, but not twin brothers. And even if he did, would his twin cut his face to look like him?”

  “You’re right, it was a stupid suggestion. But I don’t know what else to think.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Who was watching his execution again, you said?”

  “The representatives of three countries, as far as I remember. The International Military Tribunal people used Nuremberg gymnasium for the executions. They built three gallows there, so they could do it faster, as they were claiming. But you know what they did, those bastards, they used the short drop instead of the standard long one, which would normally break the neck. They wanted them to suffer, to strangle slowly, that’s why it took them almost three hours to hang ten men.”

  “They actually saw each other getting hanged?” Ursula gasped in horror.

  “No, the gallows were draped on the bottom, so nobody could see the body until the doctor would announce them dead.”

  “The doctor would go inside and make sure they’re dead?”

  “Yes. And as soon as he’d announce that they didn’t have a pulse, they’d cut the rope, take the body out and put it in wooden coffins, which they later took to the crematorium to take pictures for the press and cremate them afterwards.”

  “So, only the doctor had access to an actual body and only he announced them dead?”

  “Yes,” I slowly answered, feeling like Ursula was onto something, but still couldn’t quite grasp what.

  “Was the doctor American?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “What about the soldiers who later transported the coffins and supervised the cremation? Americans also? From the OSS?”

  “I’m not… I don’t think so… I mean, you know how OSS works, you don’t always know if the person works for it. They could be.”

  “Exactly.” Ursula smiled.

  “Where are you getting with this?”

  “Nowhere, just saying that they had already smuggled most wanted war criminals into the United States because they needed them, for the intelligence, for the scientific projects, engineering, you know. So if they smuggled a thousand people right under their allies’ nose, why couldn’t they smuggle one more?”

  I swallowed hard, looking at my friend in shock. “You’re saying they staged his execution? That they didn’t really kill him?”

  “Honey, less than anything I want to give you false hope. But that’s the only explanation I see possible.”

  “But why would they go through all the trouble and risk being revealed if something goes wrong, and didn’t just take him through the border as soon as they captured him? It doesn’t seem logical!”

  “Maybe he knew something they wanted to know. Maybe they needed him for something, who knows.”

 
; “Heinrich would have known. Agent Foster would have known. They would have told me!”

  “Maybe it’s not in their department’s sphere. Maybe even they don’t know.”

  The more we speculated on the subject, the more my face was lighting up with hope. What if we were right and Ernst was indeed alive and here, just miles away from me? No matter how improbable the staging of such a high profile execution seemed, I saw first handedly how efficient OSS was in getting whatever it wanted and covering up all the traces better than the former Gestapo. I started to believe again.

  _______________

  July 4th, 1950

  Heinrich, I, our three children and the Sterns were walking towards the Hudson River together with the rest of the jolly New Yorkers ready to watch the Independence Day fireworks. The Fourth of July was a huge celebration in the United States, and besides our children couldn’t be more excited for the fireworks. I didn’t like the crowds too much, but there wasn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for my kids.

  Heinrich put Gertie on his shoulders so the girl would have a better view of the display, and Max readily did the same with our youngest son Heini. Seeing our small personal kindergarten the kind-hearted New Yorkers (I still didn’t understand why everybody was reproaching them in being the rudest Yankees on the East Coast) let us through to the very water border, and Ernie and Greta right away occupied the best position in front of us. We had to wait twenty more minutes before it would get dark enough to start the show, and as soon as the first fiery flower opened up with a loud pop right near us, the children shrieked with excitement and everybody around started applauding.

  Millions of lights colored my face lifted to the velvet night sky, and I involuntarily squeezed Ernie’s shoulders, who was standing in front of me, feeling like a child myself. And then I felt someone’s touch near my hip. At first I didn’t pay any attention to it, thinking that someone accidentally brushed their hand on my dress, but then I clearly felt that someone was putting something inside my sundress’s pocket. I instinctively reached my hand to it and felt like an electric shock pierced my spine with a thousand watt charge, as a familiar voice whispered to my ear, “Don’t turn around.”

  Ernst, and I was sure of it one thousand percent now, was still holding my hand he’d caught near my pocket, as I stood still in my place with my eyes wide open, looking right in front of me and afraid to even blink, in case I woke up from the most beautiful dream of my life. And then he pressed my arm closer to my body, traced his hand from my hand to my elbow, slightly squeezed it for the last time as if not wanting to let go, and disappeared into the night.

  I finally remembered how to breathe again and quickly turned my head to the back, but only saw the animated faces of my fellow New Yorkers around. He was gone. To make sure that I didn’t dream it all, I put my hand into my pocket and felt a small note he’d slipped there. I clenched it in my hand as the most precious possession and didn’t let go of it all the way back home, afraid that somehow, someway, I might accidentally lose it.

  “Why are you so quiet?” My husband noticed the change in my mood right away. “Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?”

  I think I did, I thought to myself and managed to smile at him. I couldn’t wait to get inside the apartment, and instead of boiling water for tea we were planning to have with a cake, I quickly snuck into the bathroom, locked the door and opened the note with a shaking hand.

  I immediately recognized his handwriting, even though the note didn’t contain anything except for several words and numbers, but I kissed those three small lines crying the happiest tears in the last few years. It was an address, a house number, a street and a city: Washington, not New York, but it didn’t matter to me even if it was in Alaska or Hawaii at this point. I knew where to find him, and I would walk all that distance if I had to. So what did the several hours driving distance really mean?

  I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror and saw those huge, blue, gleaming with joy eyes that the old me had, what seemed like an eternity ago.

  “Erni… I’m coming to see you,” I smiled to that young hopeful girl looking back at me from the mirror, hid the note in my pocket and went back to my family and friends.

  _______________

  A day later

  I told Ursula everything the following morning, making her swear on her daughter’s life not to tell anything to Heinrich or her husband. She shook her head, but promised to watch my children while I’d be in Washington. I made up some stupid excuse for Heinrich, telling him that I wanted to take the children on a tour in Washington so they’d get better acquainted with a history of their country, but that I wanted to check out the museums myself first. Even if he was surprised by such suddenly awakened ‘patriotism’ in me, he didn’t show it and let me go with a smile and a kiss.

  Heading to the capital and looking out of the bus window, I felt guilty as hell lying to him once again, but I couldn’t help myself: I had just found out that Erni, my Erni, was alive and waiting for me, and the love like I had for him knew no excuses or boundaries. The several hours drive seemed like an eternity to me, but when we finally stopped in Washington, I immediately called the first cab driver waiting by the entrance of the bus garage and showed him the address.

  “Oh, it’s quite far, lady,” he said after looking at the note. “In the suburbs. Long ride.”

  “It’s fine.” To cheer him up I handed him the payment right away with a very generous tip on top. “You’ll get the same amount if you get me there fast.”

  The man took off with a screeching of tires and a wide smile on his unshaven face. He did get me there fast, in under an hour, and slowed down only to find the right number of the house in a very secluded area way outside city limits.

  “Is he in the military?”

  “Who?” I asked the cab driver because I didn’t tell him who I was going to see.

  “Whoever you’re looking for. It’s a military base city.”

  I doubted his words since I didn’t see any military people around.

  “Well, not your regular military,” my guide corrected himself, making another turn. “They say some government people live here. Secret Service or something.”

  “Not so secret if everybody knows it,” I smiled at him, still not convinced.

  “It’s America, lady. The government doesn’t hide anything from the people,” he explained with a slight shrug.

  Maybe, he’s right, I thought to myself and then straightened out in my seat as soon as we stopped in front of one of the houses so similar to the others next to it.

  “Here we are, lady. That’s the address.”

  My mouth was too dry from excitement to thank him, so I just nodded, handed him another twenty and came out of the car.

  “Shall I wait for you?” he called, probably hoping for another good tip. “Doesn’t look like somebody’s home. The car isn’t in the driveway.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll just wait by the door then,” I answered without turning away from the house.

  I stood on the porch for several minutes afraid to knock on the door, but composed myself and finally did it. In less than a minute a woman in her late forties opened the door for me, holding a dusting pan in one hand.

  “Can I help you?” she smiled expectantly.

  “Yes, um…” I looked at the note and the number of the house again. “I’m not sure I have the right address…”

  “Oh, it’s you!” The woman’s expression suddenly brightened, and a shade of recognition crossed her face. “Your name is Emma, right? Emma Rosenberg?”

  “Yes,” I answered, even more confused.

  “Please, do come in, Mr. Schirmer has been waiting for you!” She let me in and closed the door behind. Mr. Schirmer? “I recognized you right away, he has your pictures all over the house!”

  “Where is… Mr. Schirmer?” I addressed the mysterious woman.

  “Oh, he’s still at work in the office. I’m his housekeeper, Olivia. Would y
ou like some coffee maybe while you’re waiting? Or tea? Please, sit down, don’t be shy! He’ll come back in no time, they rarely keep him after six.”

  I had a million questions in my head, but decided to keep quiet and not to say or ask anything compromising in front of Olivia. I still didn’t know how Ernst managed to survive and who he was working for here in Washington, and had no idea if Olivia knew anything about his new identity.

  I looked around the spacious living room while she was busy with coffee in the kitchen. Olivia was right, he did have my pictures everywhere, on the coffee table, on the bookshelf, only all of them were taken while I had no idea that I was posing for them. Here I was with still small Ernie in the Central Park, pushing him in the swing, here I was pushing a baby carriage in front of me and Ernie following me with a stick in his hands, another one where I was sitting on the steps of my house, alone, looking at something in the distance, frowning slightly… Did he take them all and how did he manage to stay unnoticed this whole time? Or was he following me and I was so sure of his death that I was absolutely oblivious to his presence?

  Olivia placed a tray with coffee and biscuits in front of me. “I’m going to be leaving now, I have another two houses to clean across the street. Will you wait here alone?”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you very much.”

  “My pleasure, miss. He’s going to be so happy to see you. You is all he talks about. And your son, of course.”

  The housekeeper smiled at me once again and left me alone, locking the door as she left. I took a sip of the slightly bitter, freshly brewed coffee and, not able to sit still, went to inspect the house. It was very standard American style, a cozy two story house, looking just like the rest of them. Nothing spoke of the owner’s character, unlike his house in Berlin, and I was genuinely surprised not to find a single ashtray anywhere in sight.